


Drowning in Indigo

by Artpressing



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Claustrophobia, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Paris (City), Paris Catacombs, Slow Burn, Urban Exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8681467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artpressing/pseuds/Artpressing
Summary: Ryan finds the letters in the Catacombs of Paris and falls in love. Or: A love story about starving writers, cataphiles and Paris.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with a long fic.

The late-autumn weather found Paris and now it’s raining, dark clouds are marching on the morning sky.

A half-empty bottle, broken pencils, white, stainless paper sheets.  
A thin man is shivering on the balcony, his hair in one hand, a cigarette in the other.  
The raindrops are ice cold and he is freezing, his thin white shirt is soaked and it's sticking to his back.

In movies every single house in Paris has a view at the Eiffel Tower, but in reality that's bullshit.  
He can only see clouds, busy streets with seas of umbrellas and dirty blues, not the green gardens under the bright sky they show on photographs.

Paris isn't a lie, but it has many faces and Ryan Ross can see more than tourist attractions and postcard-perfect marble towers.

He knocks on the glass door again after gracefully throwing his cigarette down, trying to get someone's attention.  
“Jon, let me the fuck in” He shouts, but no one answers. Fucking Jon locked him out by accident and fell asleep. Again. Ryan is going to kick his ass if he gets back in, if he doesn’t die because of pneumonia. If he does, he is going to make sure to kill Jon, so they have to burry them together.

Suddenly, his phone rings, and he glares at it for a second, brows furrowed, before picking it up with a hand, shaking because of the cold.  
Or tries to pick it up, but his wet finger slips on the screen and he lets out a frustrated grunt.  
Well, Spencer can wait, and literally no one else calls, so it's probably not a big deal.

Thankfully, his ringtone is loud enough to wake Jon up, who emerges from the house as soon as the music stops.  
He blinks at Ryan, confused.  
“What.” Ryan just grunts, and pushes past him, burying his face in his hands.  
“I’m going to take a shower, pick up if Spencer calls. And try to sound...Less high.”  
He slams the bathroom door behind himself, and stops in front of the dirty bathroom mirror, ignoring the pink sticky note beside the sink.

He takes in the sight; his wet hair sticking to his forehead, face pale as a ghost, and the remains of makeup he doesn’t even remember putting on.  
Maybe he wore eyeliner the night before, but he can’t really recall anything, his memories are only filled with empty papers, cherry red lips, white sheets, braided blonde hair, and bits of his usual ‘we could be in love, and it would amazing, but we are not’ speech.

And there’s the unbelievably annoying headache, another souvenir from yesterday, one of the few things that keeps the frown on his face.

It’s not that he is unhappy, no. He just needs a change. Something big, not just a change of scenery, something that will make him grab the pen again; Just thinking about it makes the room spin again.

He sighs and unbuttons his shirt, tosses it aside, then quickly pulls of the rest of his clothes, impatient to finally get in the shower.  
The warm water hits his skin the same way the rain did, but it’s more pleasant, it gives him a chance to relax.  
Then his hand grabs a shower gel subconsciously, and he doesn't pay much attention to it until the smell of roses hit him.  
He glances at the bottle, he doesn't remember buying it, but then-  
Oh, of course.  
Z must've left it there last week, it's not the first time something like that happens.  
Ryan grunts, and throws it aside, after realizing that he had been using way too much of it. He doesn't even know why, maybe he tried to wash away his guilt, but was ashamed of doing so, or maybe-  
He mentally scolds himself for overthinking things, this just a shower gel, and he doesn't want to smell like a girl.  
That's it.  
There's nothing else behind it.

He steps out of the shower with a sigh and wraps one of the towels around his hips.  
The pink piece of paper seems to glow beside the sink and Ryan dumbly blinks at it for a second before reading it.  
All it says is: ‘Thanks for the night. Lunch on wednesday? -Z’ He takes it and throws it away as soon as he exits the bathroom.  
Jon raises an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugs, and elegantly strolls through the apartment, paying no attention to the cold air hitting his bare skin.  
He puts on clothes fit for home, warm, loose-fitting and would probably be useless against the the storm outside. He is not planning to spend more than a couple minutes outside anyway.  
And maybe if the rain is going to stay as heavy as it currently is he might consider to quit smoking.

He gets comfortable on the couch with a cup of tea and a book he already read, and is about to ask Jon to roll him a joint, when the entry phone rings, ruining his perfect, relaxed silence.

He picks it up, and says the first thing that comes to his mind  
“Bonjour, va t’en.”  
Jon chuckles behind him and Ryan sends him a dirty look. No one can blame him, he had a rough night, and writer’s block is bitch, of course he is going to be moody.  
He is about to hang up, when a familiar voice answers. “Croissant for you too, Ryan”  
And oh.  
Spencer.  
How did he even get here? And why?

Spencer lived in London, but they kept in touch.  
They used to be attached by the hip since they were five, they grew up together in Las Vegas, then they went to a British collage together.  
Spencer stayed there, but Ryan moved to Paris after he finished school.

It wasn't uncommon that they visited each other, but these visits were never unexpected.

But now, Spencer just appeared at the door, he still doesn’t speak French, and Ryan has no idea how he got there.  
Not that he cares, Spencer is still his best friend, Ryan would never mind him being around.

“I'll let you in, but only if you are not hiding tea in your bag.”  
He can almost hear Spencer roll his eyes.  
“It's your favourite tea, Ry. And I brought shortbread too.”  
“The dog shaped ones?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then please come in.”

Ryan presses the button and turns around with a grin, which quickly fades when he realizes he has no idea where he put his keys.  
After three minutes of running around and cursing Jon (and himself) for being disorganized Ryan manages to find what they've been looking for, under the couch.

When he finally opens the door, Spencer is already standing there, and he seems to be texting.  
When he notices Ryan his face brightens, and he pulls his childhood friend into a hug.

Jon waves at Spencer from behind Ryan's back, and Spencer waves back, but doesn't let go of his friend.

It’s not picturesque or poetic or anything; it’s just two friends meeting after a long time apart.

They spend the rest of the day with talking, and laughing at each other's accents. Then around midnight Spencer asks him if he remembers when they did Urbex in highschool and college, and Ryan knows where this is going.

It's about the catacombs, obviously, and thankfully Jon listens to them talk and offers Spencer a "tour", since he considers himself an expert.  
Ryan just rolls his eyes, because seriously, the catacombs are not that fun.

Well, at least that's what he thinks.  
He doesn't know what's waiting for him down there, but he is going to find out soon enough.

 

 


End file.
